Giorgio Armani's Glorious Mantan



A "mantan" is a hungry and jealous God. The sun worshipper's righteousness depends on the quality of his devotions. Fortunes are freely rendered unto the proper mantan's upkeep. Utmost attentions are demanded to keep it all so even-toned and nut-brown. But what of Giorgio Armani, the genre's acknowledged Master?

Sporting what can only be properly construed as a magnificent Vancouver sunset-colored mantan (The Corsair gasps in astonishment), Giorgio Armani recently jet-setted to Japan for an exhibition of his work, according to Hello!Magazine:

"... The silver-haired designer journeyed to the Japanese capital for the opening of a new exhibition of his work. Giorgio's 30-year career is being celebrated with a retrospective of his creations in the city's spectacular Mori Museum. The expansive gallery, which is housed in the top two floors of the Mori Tower, commands staggering views all the way to Mount Fuji. But for the next few days visitors to the venue will be focusing their attention on some 300 of Armani's most impressive gowns."



Above: Is that a Picasso Bronze, arms akimbo? No, silly, it's just Giorgio Armani and his glorious mantan.

A Little of The Old In and Out



Above: Guess which one is not plastic.

In: The Whole Rosie Blog Deal. Rosie O'Donnell's blog is a shameful pleasure. One longs for a refreshing shower immediately upon completion of some of her naught else but awful shit. Poetry, as a genre, is obsolete, to be sure, subsumed into the narrative style of the dying novel; and yet ... Rosie breathes new poetic life, as when she blogs about the luckless attorney, Mark Houser, saying, "he - a man - a stranger privy to my creepiest corners/ he has seen my twisted mind guided only by some mad yellow truth/ purging via keyboard - demons of the night."

Alright. Leaving aside the "mad yellow truth" stains all up in her "creepiest corners" (Averted Gaze), the whole concept of a celebrity-blogging-bad-poetry is interesting. Where is she going with this? How will it all end? The Corsair will keep abreast of developments and keep you informed.



(link via Drundel)

Out: Jordana Brewster. Sashay, shante. According to the RuPaul blog:

"TIM and i were on our way up to LaHOMA's apartment to watch THE FAYE DUNAWAY SHOW, when we ran into JORDANA BREWSTER, the star of D.E.B.S. coming out of the building. i told her i had just seen her movie last night. she said 'i can't believe RuPAUL is standing here telling me you saw my movie!' i said 'anytime bitches are kicking ass in a movie, i'm so there!' we laughed and said goodbye, but what i didn't say was that i walked out of the film after a very painful first hour."

(The Corsair puts out a saucer of milk)



(image via LVRH.com)

In: Governor Bill Richardson. The Corsair has believed for some time now that Indiana Senator Evan Bayh, an underestimated player in the American political arena, would score the 2008 Democratic nomination after a brutal, rip roaring cross-country civil war with the over-cautious Hillary Clinton. Now I'm not so sure. New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson, also from a Red State (and turning red states blue is a magic act crucial for the 2008 nominee), is displaying some formidable politicking in addition to his legendary ambition, according to TheHill:

"Party strategists and some governors suspect Richardson is plotting to parlay his chairmanship of (the Democratic Governor's Association), a committee that can raise soft money, into hard support for a possible presidential bid in 2008, presuming that he wins reelection in 2006, said several Democratic strategists who are in contact with the DGA."

And the Hispanic Richardson, unlike Bayh, is not -- ahem -- charismatically-encumbered.



(image via Brandeis)

Out: Ted Koppel. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall? On the same principle: If Ted Koppel leaves Nightline ... ya know what I mean?

According to the AP: "Ted Koppel, who has anchored ABC News' 'Nightline' since its inception a quarter-century ago, said Thursday he will leave the network when his contract expires at the end of the year.

"His departure comes at a time of questions about the future of his late-night news program, which has been declining in the ratings and was threatened three years ago when ABC tried to lure David Letterman from CBS. 'Ted and I have discussed a number of options under which he might have remained at Nightline or in some other capacity at ABC News, but Ted believes this is the right time for him to leave,' ABC News President David Westin said."

And, immediately after saying that, we imagine Dave Westin did an fetching and energetic rendition of the "Cha-Cha," with other senior ABC executives in tow, as Champagne bottles were a 'poppin in the background.

Hey, 11:30 pm is prime eyeball real estate and it's nearly impossible to evict the paleosaur newsman without suffering media crucifixion in the process. The media looks after its own.

It's better to let the newsies extinctify themselves on their own terms, freeing up the slot -- and then pop the bubbly.

In: Ralph Lauren. Democracy, or at least a modicum of transparency is coming to the tents. Remember when, before Metro TV -- maybe 5 years ago -- the tents were virtually impenetrable, except for second hand knowledge gleaned through the gossip columns? Well, according to the Jim Shi at Fashionweekdaily:

"... Starting in early April, computer-fashion junkies can log onto http://www.runway.polo.com/ and view a special video that will chronicle not just the runway show, but all the behind-the-scenes action, as well. Entitled 'From the Front Row,' the clip will enable those not at the show to see the entire backstage buzz as models get prepped in hair and makeup. To complement the backstage, interviews from the front row with fashion A-listers and celebrities will be presented as well. Among those weighing in on the designer's Fall 2005 collection and discussing the upcoming season's trends are Elle fashion director Nina Garcia, Vogue editor-at-large Andr� Leon Talley, and Harper's Bazaar editor-in-chief Glenda Bailey, not to mention actress and Ralph Lauren-muse Emmy Rossum and model Lauren Bush."

We're so there.

Out: Christo and "Jeanne-Fraud." These two pseudo-artists are at it again, apparently addicted to the New York media's attentions. According to Rush and Molloy:

"Christo and wife Jeanne-Claude will be roasted - no doubt in orange sauce - this Saturday at the 83rd annual Inner Circle show. The artistic couple is due to attend the comic festivities even though their Central Park installation, The Gates, will be likened to shower curtains and car-wash flaps."

Don't they have some other municipality to defraud? Some other aesthetically confused urban administrator to scam? Don't they have another scheme at the ready involving some marginally clever statement draped across some public space? Why must they besiege New York, my city, with their artistic bastardy?

If only they were roasted quite literally in ochre grease paints. If goddamfucking only.



Above: An astonished Ellen Weiser congratulates a very self-satisfied Anthony Haden-Guest after his 83rd consecutive glass of Beefeater Gin.

In: The Lulu Guinness Auction. Our favorite chronicler of Knickerbockers, David Patrick Columbia, writes in NYSocialDiary:

"... Meanwhile over at Sotheby?s last night there was a big party for Lulu Guinness, the prominent British socialite and designer whose witty and amusing handbags are manufactured in series of 500 only, are collectibles, and sold at Bergdorf?s and at Lulu Guinness shops here in New York (in the Village), in London and in Los Angeles. Mrs. Guinness (Lulu to you) has also just published an amusing and witty book for Rizzoli, called Put On Your Pearls Girls!

"So the galleries at Sotheby's were decorated (by Rush Jenkins) with illustrations from Mrs. Guinness' book and with displays of her famous handbags, and filled to the rafters with bright young things (mainly young, presumably bright, of course), many of whom were dressed in that Guinness witty and amusing way.There was also an auction of three of the Lulu Guinness handbags - one in the shape of a famous dress that Schiaparelli designed for the Duchess of Windsor long long ago; another was in the shape of a dress that Mainbocher designed for the Duchess of Windsor also a long long time ago, and the third was with a portrait of a Picasso 'blue period' painting that sold at Sotheby's a few months ago for $104 million. The three handbags sold for between $1200 and $1400 a piece and the proceeds will go entirely to Children Affected by AIDS Foundation (CAAF)."

Out: Paris and Kimberly. Of these two, those intrepid Page Sixxies write:

"At an L.A. concert by her boyfriend Cisco Adler's band Whitestarr, Kimberly and pal Paris Hilton ducked into a stall in the ladies room, prompting an impatient lass in line to yell, 'At least save some for us!' "

Gee, The Corsair wonders what they were doing in there.

"When Paris finally emerged, one bladder-bursting babe relieved herself in a sink. 'You dirty bitch!' Paris yelped."

Delivered, one imagines, in crisp and even tone, with a reptilian archness about the last syllable. -- And then:

"The heiress, who apparently reconsidered her harsh appraisal, then added, 'That's hot!' and left the loo."

Flat ass, no doubt, twitching as she sauntered off.

In: Gawker Media Social Engineering. The Corsair found this interview with Lockhart Steele on IWantmedia interesting:

"Steele: Actually, this bonus system is new for 2005. We're now testing it out. The writers don't all like it, to be frank. I think some writers would rather just focus on their writing.

"Basically, what we're saying to the writers is that they need to have an entrepreneurial instinct. We're trying to test the idea of asking writers not only to write but also kind of think with a business mindset about their content. This could be a failed experiment."

But an interesting one.

Prince Charles to Press: "I hate these people."



Above: Prince Charles summons up the fakest smile ever.

Granted, there's no earthly reason for Prince Charles to love the press. They blasted his son on his quixotic decision to wear a Nazi uniform to a dubiously named "Natives and Colonials" soiree (Averted Gaze). The media has been merciless in their coverage of his betrothed. But try, Prince Charles ... really tax yourself not to lend voice to your utter media disgust by sprouting what can only be properly construed as "free-verse" while near an live mic. According to the Sun:

"THE PRINCE of Wales's contempt for the press was made abundantly clear today when the grumpy groom-to-be faced the cameras just a week before his wedding.

"During the brief five-minute media event in the village of Monbiel, on the outskirts of Klosters, Charles looked uncomfortable as he was asked by BBC TV reporter Nicholas Witchell about his feelings in the run-up to his wedding.

"'I'm very glad you have heard of it,' the Prince said.

"But he also uttered: 'Bloody people. I can't bear that man anyway. He's so awful, he really is.'
Charles added: 'I hate these people.'"

Exercise your inner bitch, Charles.

The Pie-ing of William Kristol



(image via mediatransparency.org)

A unilateral attack of unprovoked pastry was launched yesterday against Neocon sex symbol, William Kristol, by an insurgent coed. The threat was duly neutralized, and the lecture went on without further incident. According to something called Pal-item.com:

"A well-aimed pie tin filled with goop delayed, but failed to derail, an otherwise civil dialogue on U.S. foreign policy at Earlham Tuesday evening.

"Neoconservative journalist and commentator William Kristol was about 30 minutes into his speech on international affairs when a slender young man crossed the stage of Goddard Auditorium and slung the ersatz pastry into his face."

And just what was in that unguent "cream" filling? This is the left-of-center Earlham, you know. Perhaps the goo-recipe is better left a mystery to bewitch.

"Kristol appeared momentarily stunned, then wiped the brown and white goo from his eyes with a paper towel, stepped back to the podium and said, 'Let me just finish this point.'"

Well, you've got to applaud a modest wit for showing itself under pressure. As god knows what organic "brown-and-white" effluvia drips down his now aghast face, obstructing nasal passages, matting his hair with a ... sinister viscosity; still, Kristol managed to win the crowd over.

"Members of both sides of the political spectrum in the overflow audience rose to applaud."

Now, do we need to run DNA on that pie?

A Little of the Old In and Out


Above: A photo, via Hello!Magazine, of the first meeting -- and flirtation -- of the soon-to-be-wed Royals.

In: The Prince Charles-Camilla Parker Bowles Timeline. Hello!Magazine today has an interesting timeline of the Camilla Parker Bowles-Prince Charles romance, if you go in for that sort of thing (and we do). The marriage is on Friday (hooray for true love), in an out of the way courthouse. Link here.



(image via Grudgematch)

Out: Mischa Barton as Wonderwoman. Not an inspired idea, to be sure. Princess Diana of Themyscira is the archetype of the strong and principled warrior Iron Lady. Condiesque, even. Okay, I care too much about this, but nothing about Mischa Barton strikes me as strong, principled or even warrior-like. Mischa Barton suggests to me: woman of leisure, woman to be waited upon -- not Amazonian. A Mischa Barton choice would be as disatrous as the Cathy Lee Crosby Wonder Woman!

Cinematical makes the strongest case against MischaMischaMischa:

"There are reports swirling around the web that Mischa Barton - who currently spends most of her time pairing petulant alcoholic bisexuality with Marc Jacobs separates as Marissa Cooper on The O.C. - is at the top of the list of potential stars for Joss Whedon's Wonder Woman. This sounds great - except for the fact that it doesn't at all. As Moviehole astutely points out, Barton's O.C. costar Rachel Bilson very convincingly wore the Wonder Woman costume last season to seduce Seth Cohen - and, she's a much sexier, much more interesting actress than the milquetoast Barton, who for all her dishwater-glamour doesn't strike me as super-heroine material."

Cinematical then goes on to nominate Elisha Dusku, which sounds about right to The Corsair.

In: The CFDA Awards. All the usual suspects are represented. There are not too many surprises in the nominations, but some interesting awards will be given out on June 6th at the New York Public Library. The very cool Jim Shi at Fashionweekdaily writes, "Diane von Furstenberg (will receive the CFDA) Lifetime Achievement Award ... In addition, Kate Moss will receive the council's Fashion Influence Award in lieu of the traditional Fashion Icon Award, which went to Sarah Jessica Parker last year."

Out: Be Cool. Waaay "out." This film is suffused with suckyosity, replete with razzies, brimming with bastardy. According to Contactmusic, Quentin Tarrantino, a man who has a thing for feet (and syringes and ass, alas), dismisses the movie Be Cool, offhand, as a stinker:

"Both (Uma) Thurman, 34, and (John) Travolta, 51, love the Be Cool dance, but Tarantino has dismissed not only the homage to his original scene, but the entire movie.

"He says, ' ... No, I haven't seen it, I won't see it. It looks like the CANNONBALL RUN to me.

"'Everytime I keep seeing that poster I keep expecting to see JAMIE FARR as that Sheik guy sitting right next to CEDRIC THE ENTERTAINER.

"It's Cannonball Run 4, so I haven't seen it, sorry.'"

Sorry is a state of being exhibited acutely by those lamentable exiting a "Be Cool" (Averted Gaze) screening (exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).

In: John McCain, Straight Talk Express. Now The Corsair is sure that John McCain is running in 2008. Our favorite superhero crime fighting gossip duo Rush and Molloy report:

"Nothing is exempt from partisan analysis. Arizona Sen. Jon Kyl was kind enough to point out to President Bush that there was some stray breakfast food on his face during a recent visit to Tucson. Bush had already greeted Kyl's fellow Republican Sen. John McCain and Democratic Arizona Gov. Janet Napolitano, both of whom apparently neglected to mention the schmutz, the Arizona Star's C.J. Karamargin noticed..."

A smear in Arizona for, say, a smear in South Carolina. Alls fair in love and politics.

Out: Animal Fair Magazine. Ironists? According to LA.com:

"If you thought Awards Season was over, you're barking mad. Animal Fair magazine -- which aims to be Vanity Fair for the pet set -- has just announced its Five Dog Bone Awards for exceptionally pet-friendly companies, products and destinations. Two winners do the Southland proud: Montecito's swanky San Ysidro Ranch (Pet-Friendly Resort) and Carmel-by-the-Sea's Cypress Inn (Pet-Friendly Hotel). But don't expect PeTA to congratulate the winners, or the magazine. Fur lovers Beyonce and Kimora Lee Simmons are cover girls for the mag."

We will refrain entirely from any commentary of Kimora Lee Simmons appearing on the cover "Animal Fair." We reject the easy. Exceptions, of course, could be made for Naomi Campbell.

In: David Patrick Columbia Versus The Lowdown. David Patrick Columbia never struck me as the type to give out a bitchy quote in print. That's why The Corsair was kind of surprised about the Lowdown item on Tuesday that appeared to show him on the attack against Melania Knauss, Donald Trump's Eastern European whorelet (The Corsair said David doesn't do bitchy quotes .. The Corsair does them at the drop of a hat), as having a "ways to go" before being a big gun in Manhattan society. Apparently, the quote was taken a ways out of context, says DPC in NYSocialDiary:

"... This is just a simple matter of manipulating the facts to insult one person and make another look mean-spirited, a perfect example of why media today is in trouble and a lot of people don?t believe any of it. Instead of reporting the facts, they use them to create bad news."

15, Love.

Out: Marion "Suge" Knight. If The Corsair were a judge (on this blog I am only Arbiter Elegantiae) and Suge Knight walked -- no strutted -- into my courtroom, with his pimp roll, we would be compeled to shout out, in the interests of the just, "Guilty!"

But that's just The Corsair. According to the AP:

" A judge has ordered Marion 'Suge' Knight to pay $107 million to a woman who claims she helped the rap mogul start Death Row Records, ruling Knight and his attorneys failed to answer questions and provide information in the case.

"Superior Court Judge Ronald M. Sohigian ordered Knight and his companies, including Tha Row Inc., to pay Lydia Harris, who claims she is owed money from the recording label she helped establish.

"Lydia Harris is married to Michael 'Harry O' Harris, an imprisoned drug dealer, who has claimed he put up $1.5 million from behind bars in 1991 to help start Death Row Records. Knight has repeatedly denied that contention."

All the best entrepreneurial ideas are hatched in the slammer, didn't you know? We hear TheStreet.com is setting up a bureau at Rikers.

In: The Huffington Report. So, everyone is talking about Tina Brown's blog and The Huffington Report. The Corsair woke up late, so here it is, via Business 2.0:

" As a canary-in-the-coal-mine sign, Tina Brown is the perfect bird. The British-born editor is the consummate MSM insider, who, just as the dotcom boom was peaking, was pouring her media-mogul hopes and dreams into Talk magazine. (Remember that it had the preliminary subtitle of 'The American Conversation,' a mantle snatched away with gusto by the collective inhabitants of the blogosphere.)

"The blogosphere seemed safe enough. These days Brown is busy with her cable-TV show, her Washington Post column, and the research for her seven-figure bio of Princess Diana. After a St. Patrick's Day rant in her column in which she point-blank declared that snoopy bloggers 'are the new Stasi,' I figured blogging would remain the hole-in-the-wall haven for journalistic outlaws.

"But my sense of security was short-lived. Starting next month Brown is crashing the bloggers' party, as Arianna Huffington's guest. Huffington, the conservative-turned-liberal author, pundit, California gubernatorial candidate, and bona fide blogger, is adding 'media entrepreneur' to her list of titles with a new online publishing venture, the Huffington Report.

"Based in New York and staffed with a full complement of editors, the Huffington Report appears to be a culture and politics webzine in the classic mold of Salon or Slate. It will have breaking news, a media commentary section called 'Eat the Press,' and its most interesting innovation, a group blog manned by the cultural and media elite: Sen. Jon Corzine, Larry David, Barry Diller, Tom Freston, David Geffen, Vernon Jordan, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Harry Evans and his wife, Tina Brown. That's just to name a few, and Huffington is still recruiting."

Wasn't Huffington, like, the unelected Mayor of Hollywood when last we checked? Now, it appears she is on a campaign to conquer New York as well. All power to her. The Corsair finds Arianna Huffington a dark, somewhat sinister, media presence, but, above all, incredibly interesting and "sessy."

Blackberry Morasses



Naomi Campbell is ... complicated. But then, The Corsair likes a girl with "the fire." They are the spice of life (The Corsair pours himself a glass of Grappa). Take Bijou Philips. Nuttier than an Almond Joy, she is. Her species of "crazy-sessiness" presents a rare and raucus challenge to any alpha male. Can you imagine her in bed? And there would never be a dull moment dating Bijou Phillips. (The Corsair sighs)

But we draw the line at ass kicking. Naomi Campbell likes to beat people up. That's just wrong at any age, but particularly freaky in a grown woman. And, in what can only be construed as "Blackberry Morasses," the Page Sixxies report:

"FIERY supermodel Naomi Campbell has allegedly attacked another one of her assistants � beating her with a BlackBerry and slapping her across the face."

Though we are sure Naomi would explain said percussive activity as "pressing the zero during the greeting."

"An insider tattles to PAGE SIX that Campbell was traveling with a young female assistant in Brazil last week when the catfighting catwalker pounced on her prey during an argument.

"'Naomi was slapping her with one hand, and beating her with a BlackBerry with the other,' claims our source."

Total misunderstanding. Naomi was simply entering her new access code with a peculiar gusto.

The full Naomi. (And, yeah, we'd still fuck her)

A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Michael Musto's Blind Items. It's that time of year when the most excellent Michael Musto drops some provocative dish in our path then walks away, thus leaving us to untangle it all, like this one, "What famous wife, who has a career of her own, is still the kind of street demon who'll sprinkle remarks like 'I'll cut her!' into casual conversation?" Caroline Schlossberg Kennedy? Kiiding. I don't know! A little help? And, "What lothario who did it with his darker co-star is supposedly doing it with her again?" Is this the lusty leprichaun and his Butter Pecan Nuyorican?! More here.

Out: Courtney Love. Continuing in her thespian tradition of playing low grade pieces of ass on screen (and, quite convincingly offscreen as well), "Court Love" is slated to "do" Linda Lovelace. According to Cinematical:

"Courtney Love will star as Linda Lovelace in a new feature biopic on the Deep Throat star. Jason Blum of Blumhouse Productions will produce with Love and her manager, Jason Weinberg ... She's had her biggest cinematic success to date playing another sex-industry veteran, Larry Flynt's stripper wife Althea in Milos Forman's The People Vs. Larry Flynt. She also appeared in Julie Johnson, which racked up mostly negative reviews when it premiered at Sundance in 2001(!) and which Regent is finally planning to release on May 25 of this year."

Can't wait to studiously avoid that effort.



In: Ingrid Parewijk. And the models, of course, the models are free, and maybe, like models, all people should be. According to Daily Vogue:

"INGRID PAREWIJCK is a free woman. The 26-year-old Belgian model, who was caught at Kennedy airport in July last year carrying 2.7 grams of cocaine, walked out of a courtroom in Queens, New York, yesterday safe in the knowledge that the case will be dismissed in six months providing she manages to stay out of trouble."

She didn't actually walk out of the courtroom, so much as glide, expressionless, with a lot of hip and attitude. Mannequins.

Boring Anchor Brian Williams Bitchslaps Bloggers

Bland, boring, antiseptic white bread anchor-elect Brian Williams (Averted Gaze), that helmet haired Washingtonian sissy, had some choice words -- dare I prithee to say (air quotes) "zingers" -- for bloggers, words that stung like a bitchslap delivered with ... particular brio (The Corsair rubs his cheek, ruefully) and more than a touch of dash. According to CBS MarketWatch: "Williams, 45, is capable of showing good humor and a dry wit in public. When Time magazine held a lunch to discuss the candidates for its Person of the Year issue, he exposed a side of his personality that is seldom seen on the air. "When a fellow panelist mentioned that bloggers had a big impact on the reporting on Election Day, Williams waved that point away by quipping that the self-styled journalists are 'on an equal footing with someone in a bathroom with a modem.'"

A touch, I do confess't; I fear I breathe my last.

Atoosa Rubenstein's Project Seventeen



(image via Bostonparents)

Going on Tina Brown's Topic A discussing the timely issue of teenage Wiccans was not enough of a blast for the busty editor of Seventeen Magazine. The buxom Persian delight, Atoosa Rubenstein, and MTV are teaming up for a reality show next month. The gang at Fashionweekdaily write:

"According to Seventeen�s parent company, The Hearst Corporation, the show will pit young women against each other for a college scholarship, a paid Seventeen internship (otherwise unheard of at the company), and a Seventeen cover of her very own. MTV execs will scour the country in April for show contestants."

Endless journo discussion and debate on the ethics of a prestigious magazine internship being "raffled away" on MTV are sure to follow. Frankly, we just hope Atoosa dresses up "sessy" and bares some midriff.

Mark Cuban's Media Domination Tour



"Mark Cuban has agreed to finance the defense of Grokster Inc. against Metro Goldwyn Mayer Inc.'s peer-to-peer lawsuit, after being asked by partisans including the Electronic Frontier Foundation," writes CBS Marketwatch. Sure he has big ole creepy serial-killer looking peepers, but Mark Cuban is an interesting media figure -- A Great Man of History. Napoleonic in scope, Metternichian in ambition. And how does The Corsair know that? Because Mark Cuban never tires of reminding us on his blog!

Shhht: Observe quietly as we catch Cuban's healthy self-love presently in mid flow:

"... Just as I knew that digital in TV would lead to an explosion in the acceptance of HDTV over time, which is why we started HDNet and HDNet Movies (www.hd.net) the same acceptance would change how consumers bought and used any and all content."

"Knowing this, my partner, Todd Wagner and I immediately began to get aggressive in the acquisition of content. Our first move was to buy Rysher Entertainment. Rysher owns among its movie library, Kingpin, Private Parts, Dear God, Hard Eight among others."

Message to Mark Cuban: The film "Dear God" -- and we use the term "film" here quite loosely -- is not something to inspire a sense of proud ownership. Bragadoccio is not in order. Rather, in the properly integrated and psychologically healthy personality, association with the making of such a rat turd "production" (Averted Gaze) would instill a deep sense of shame followed by a disturbing case of Sartrean nausea.

" ... In the TV world, we own Nash Bridges, Highlander, Star Search, Soldier of Fortune, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Lonesome Dove and shared interests in Hogans Heroes, Ben Casey, Walking Tall, The Great Santini and others."

A considerable pause. A long, low whistle of astonishment. "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir" was unavailable? What, no "P-p-puttin on the Hits"? "Kids, Incorporated" was taken?

With the possible exception of Santini, The Corsair has never seen so many stinkers so zestily assembled. Well, maybe during roll call for the Terry Sciavo vote on The Hill.

"I then added the Dallas Mavericks as a content play with digital implications."

More on Mark Cuban's self loving "digital implications" here.

Richard Gere to Koizumi: Shall We Dance

Though he played quite the man-whore in "Breathless," Richard Gere, according to Hello!Magazine, is something of a private dancer in Japan:

"Japan's prime minister Junichiro Koizumi wasn't expecting anything more than a photo opportunity when he met up with Richard Gere in Tokyo, so he got something of a surprise when he turned to his guest and, in a jokey reference to the actor's latest film, asked; 'Shall we dance?' Richard promptly embraced the 63-year-old and took him for a twirl in front of the cameras."



Above: "Friday night and the lights are low/Looking out for the place to ... go"

" ... Not the kind of response the Japanese leader is used to, but he seemed to enjoy it nonetheless."



Above: "And when you get the chance..."

"It isn't the first time Junichiro has cast aside the formalities of political protocol to accommodate a visiting star. Two years ago he delighted his nation's movie fans by joining Tom Cruise for a rendition of the Elvis Presley hit I Want You, I Need You, I Love You."

Ah yes, Koizumi: Bullwark against Chinese hegemony in the region, or light-in-the-loafers dancing fool with a fucking gorgeous head of feathered hair?

Danny Aiello: Crooner



Danny Aiello is a fine character actor, a master technician of his craft, one of our best. So -- the question invariably arises -- Why would he want to fuck with his mojo? The answer is complex, but in our 33 years on this planet we have observed -- and the unending tsunami of American Idol contestants bears this pet theory out -- that every human being believes that they are a great singer. Lloyd Grove's Lowdown reports on Aiello's transit into this dodgy artistic space:

"At 71, Danny Aiello has embarked on a brand- new career: saloon singer. The busy character actor - who's starring opposite Jane Curtin in the upcoming movie 'Lobster Farm' - enjoyed a fair bit of critical success with his first album, 'I Just Wanted to Hear the Words.' "

And Lobster Farm (Averted Gaze) has so clearly "$40 million opening weekend" written all over it? And who among us does not enjoy a Jane Curtin cinematic experience?

The other night at Feinstein's at the Regency, I sat with Phil Ramone, the Grammy-winning record producer extraordinaire, listening to Aiello croon and belt such standards as 'Besame Mucho' and 'You Made Me Love You.'"

He (The Corsair sheds a tear) had me at, "Como si fuera esta noche la �ltima vez." -- So verdad.

"... Aiello may not read music, but he can sell a song with the best of them - not as an actor who's playing the part of a singer, but as natural singer who also happens to act. The guy had his audience, especially women of a certain age, in the palm of his hand."

But you'd have to be gentle with them in you pal, as they might reinjure their hips.

The Mystery of Edouard Stern



Usually when The Corsair logs on to NYSocialDiary -- or excellent sites like TheMediaDrop, and to visit the blog wife, the magnificent Miu Von Furstenberg -- we are looking to nestle inside a quiet space, perhaps with some mulled Claret and a Hoyo de Monterrey Excalibur cigar. These blogs are waystations of wit and charm, a sacred place outside the clatter of one's daily life and terrestrial time.

Not so today, when we logged on to our favorite social chronicler only to find ourselves deep inside a double barreled jet-set murder mystery:

"As we reported on these pages three weeks ago, the 50-year-old former Lazard Freres investment banker was shot twice in the head and once in the back in his fifth Geneva penthouse apartment on the night of March 2. His body was discovered by business associates. At the time of his death, it was first reported that he was wearing a latex rubber body suit, and it was believed that he had been involved in some kind of sado-masochistic sexual activity. Early speculation believed that (Edouard Stern's) murderer may have been an assassin hired by a 'long list of powerful enemies in his personal and professional life.'

"Last week in the (London) Spectator, the incomparable chronicler of international society, Taki, writing from his aerie in Gstaad quickly dispelled most of the mystery and filled in the blanks. Taki, who is not one to pull any punches, characterized the late Mr. Stern as 'not only ruthless and a terrible bully,' but 'as close to being a monster as anyone can be and still be free to walk around in polite society.' Adding: 'Mind you, no longer.'"

Yes, that's our old pal Taki all right; although, The Corsair would have liked to know more about what particularly salacious acts made the banker so monstrous to someone as worldly as Taki. There is alot being left out. Then again, Taki's icy hot litigation battles vis-a-vis Lady Campbell are still fresh in the mind of his editor. Better to err on the side of caution:

"At the time he was found, Mr. Stern was wearing a latex suit, bound by a harness and wearing a dildo (and not as a hat). A fourth bullet wound was also reported, although its location in the body was not. Stern?s murderer was soon discovered (there were video cameras in his building to assist) to be a 36-year-old French woman, first described as a 'model' and then later described as a 'kinky prostitute' named Cecile Brossard who once worked for an English madam named Margaret Macdonald (who is now doing four years in jail for matters unrelated to the death of Mr. Stern)."

Oxygen network? Or, Lifetime? The Scotsman opines:

"Now they are uncovering the layers of her life as they try to determine whether the killing that has gripped Switzerland and France was a crime of passion or vengeance over money.
"For Stern, 50, Brossard was far more than just the mistress of his sexual fantasies. She was also C�cile, his girlfriend of four years standing who accompanied him on hunting trips in Europe and Africa and who had supervised the decoration of his apartment.
"... Villagers took the distinguished older man who often visited her to be 'her protector.' No one who saw the couple dining together at their usual table at the local restaurant the Relais de la Poste (dinner menu 11 euros - �7.60) ever guessed that C�cile?s partner was Stern, one of the most brilliant and ruthless bankers of his generation and the 38th richest man in France."

Finally, DPC writes:

"Mme. Brossard used the name 'Alice' when she played her role as a dominatrix. Taki, according in his last week?s column High Life, in Spectator, said that although the woman was 'not a friend,' he knew her. He described her as 'a 36-year-old blonde, not bad looking if one likes that sort of looks,' adding that 'she specialized in rough sex.' He also reported that she was 'an art lover' who 'painted and sculpted in between rough sex sessions, which made her quite unique ? at least in my book.'"

We all have our little talents; everyone's special. But, if what Taki says is right, and this man was some monster ... Could it have been self defense? For the rest of DPC's take on the story you'll have to go here.

A Little of the Old In and Out

In: The Lonely Ballad of the "Fruit Monkey." Our favorite NYRB-reading gossipmonger Ben Widdicombe hips us to the latest in the ongoing saga of the Who-called-whom-a-fruitmonkey contretemps. Our man in the field, Gatecrasher says:

"(Pat O'Brien's) flack put me on the phone Friday with an 'Insider' employee. This employee, who insisted on not being named, said the person who called a gay African-American producer 'Fruit Monkey' was not O'Brien but another 'Access Hollywood' producer. The employee, who moved with O'Brien when he made the jump between shows ...



"... wouldn't say who the offender was." ("Fruitmonkey"(TM) via popcormfestival)

Takes one to know one, eh "Access Hollywood"? (Averted Gaze)



Out: RosieO'DonnellZenHaiku. Assume the complex Zazen posture (above), true believers. Take calm, deep cleansing breaths. Allow Rosie's words to caress your effervescent inner Chi-force like mountainwind against the archer's missive) In this week's installment of an entirely irrelevant but infinitely fascinating celebrity blog, delivered with all the gravity of lovesick teenage poetry, Zen Buddhist Master Rosie O'Donnell sallies forth with exquisite hot winds. A portion of which reads:

"ro - kel whispers again/ the ticket woman says it/ 'doesn't he have a binky'/and off we go /talking about not knowing/ if we should/ but wanting to /so "

Oh. And here we go, Again/ Insulting Ro, when, Even tho/ We find these little incoherent scribblings, so ... / Addictive.

(The Corsair sips insolently from a chilled glass of a mature Grappa)

In: Denise Richards. The Corsair sometimes fucks the whole shit up, as, when -- without any inkling of insidery knowledge of either party -- we posted a bit of snark insinuating that Denise Richards had hatched some erstwhile Machiavellian plot (3rd post), seeing as she had successfully sired the next generation of Sheen Babies, thus allowing her to part Charlie from his earnings. Ugh!

From what bag of glue were we sniffing on that baleful day? The fumes were surely acrid and bitter, and we do most heartily apologize (The Corsair lowers his tricorn pirate hat with flourish as he bows). Evidently, Charlie Sheen is presently playing a particularly nasty game of hardball (link via Defamer) with the very pregnant Denise Richards. And how could that not have been expected, alas? Is there a vice known to man -- or 4-legged beast on cloven hoof that chews its own cud -- in which Charlie Sheen has not gleefully elected to participate? (And, like, we mean that in a bad way this time, guys)

Engaging in litigation with such a species of "unclean meat" (Averted Gaze) as Charlie Sheen will not be fun, especially not when pregnant with said person's child. It's going to be incredibly nasty, and well-publicized, even by Hollywood standards. We wish Denise Richards luck, and offer up some deep, heartfelt apologies.

Out: The Jeb Bush-Tom Delay Gambit, Broken. Although Dean and Hillary took a sustained beating from their Progressive base last week over their relative silence over the Schiavo politicking, as the repulsive Tom Delay (Exterminator, exterminate thyself) and "Jebby" Bush played the overemotional Christian Conservatives like so many Stradivarii (the tune was from the repertoire of the nutritionally-empty but popular virtuoso, Paginini), the Democratic strategy appears to have been sound. Napoleon's fatal campaign against Russia, sound.

Extract, for a second, the innocent Terry Sciavo from the equation (As she ought to have been ab initio, in Congress' debate), so we can appraise this situation with cold, jewler's eyes. The Democrats affected a strategic retreat, falling back, yet continually harassing the Republicans with the Barney Frank as their eloquent and tenacious lieutenant.

Now, as the damage toll mounts, and Jebby and Delay -- whose own strategic "delay" all but threw the focus off his own defective ethical compass -- realize that giving the Christian Coalition the whole hog would irrevocably damage the nation, the Dems attack even as the Coalition turns on Jebby and Delay.

Delay, via the Ethics Committee, and Jebby, by way of 2012 Pro-Lifer backlash, may both end up in political ruins for playing on the razor's edge. And they have only themselves to blame for demogoguing a clear separation-of-powers issue, not leaving things to the courts.

In: Angela Robinson. Talented D.E.B.S director Angela Robinson stumbled on to Hollywood's best kept secret en route to making the buzzworthy film, namely -- studio heads like lesbians. Indiewire dutifully reports:

"iW: What sort of pressures if any did you face in adapting the film into a feature, given the lesbian storyline... or maybe that element was something that drew Screen Gems to your film?

"AR: Screen Gems and Samuel Goldwyn (the film's distributor) were into the lesbian storyline. They liked the way it was handled and thought it was a fun twist. I think it drew them to the film."

Uhm, yeah, we'll cosign on that greenlight.

Out: Kofi Annan, Tony Blair. Tony Blair's squeaky clean image as a family friendly Labor PM is about to take a beating from a sex scandal, and this at a time when his popularity is teetering on the brink, and elections are on the horizon.

UN Secretary General and all-around impotent fuzzy wuzzy teddy bear Kofi Annan ("I ... am appalled ..."), if the chattering is right, will take nearly as much of a beating in the soon-to-be-released (When?!?) Volker Report. Rumors swirling around Turtle Bay mention that if the report is as bad as all say it is ... and we think it is ... Kofi may resign, leaving Asia -- China?! -- to claim their turn as Secretary General of the UN.

Some Kimora for your Coffee

The Page Sixxies keep dangling Kimora Lee Simmons items at us, like juicy morsels before the hungry lion (The Corsair roars a heart alphablogger roar). Uncle! We give!:



(image via Vibe)

"NOW that Jules Asner and Kimora Lee Simmons' Life & Style TV show has been canned, stories are being told of donut-licking, lamp-stealing and other typical diva behavior.

Some of the social midemeanors committed:

"... (Kimora) stole props such as lamps and once made off with an entire rack of lamb from the lunch buffet table. Staff routinely had to be dispatched to the sticky-fingered star's dressing room in order to recover the pilfered booty."

Her "booty," as the Page Sixxies so unkindly put it, isn't pilfered! Puerile, perhaps, pompous, definitely; but Kimora Lee Simmons golden hindquarters aren't ... oh, wait ... they were talking about the props, weren't they? (Laconically) My mistake:

" ... Kimora's husband, hip-hop mogul Russell Simmons, was a repeated on-set nuisance who nagged producers to give his wife a bigger role."

Again: total fucking misunderstanding (The Corsair sparks up a Cubano Robusto). Russell wasn't berating the producers to increase his wife's screen time. Piffle. Russell Simmons wanted an actual roll, and, quite possibly, if they could swing it, a generous helping of Serrano Chile-Mint Jelly to go along with that big ol' rack of lamb Kimora pilfered. Thems good eats!

More Cremora to go with thy morning hazelnut coffee.

Mimi Does Britain

Although "the abuse (she) endures is never-ending," Mariah Carey goes in for entrances. Red carpets with metre-high white candles, life-size $9,500 confections in homage to herself, and all that jazz. According to Hello!Magazine:



Above: Mariah Carey, one upping Jacko, dangles two babies off the balcony of her European hotel. (image via Hello!Magazine)

"Mariah Carey was looking a million dollars ? quite literally ? when she celebrated her 35th birthday in London at the weekend. The Glitter star made an appropriately dazzling entrance at the capitol's fashionable Tantra club in a white Robert Cavalli dress with ($1.8 million) worth of diamond jewellery."

To The Scotsman, she is quoted as saying, ?It?s the anniversary of my 12th birthday.?

We'll pass over that in bemused silence. But of the cake -- and what a cake it was, "Chefs at Harrods spent 18 days working with sugar leaf and white chocolate to prepare the mouth-watering creation in time for the event.

Finally:

"... The glitzy celebration came just after Mariah had wowed her British fans with an appearance on Top Of The Pops. Among the celebs who went along to congratulate the chanteuse were Blue boys Lee Ryan and Simon Webbe, along with Mis-Teeq star Aleesha Dixon and footie ace Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink."

What? Sylvia Miles, John Lovitz and Gene Simmons were busy?

On The Shrinking Russian Sphere of Influence



The humiliated Russian Bear stalks eastward, menacingly, licking at open wounds inflicted on its Western flank by the Ukraine (a revolution prompted by the State of the Union, funded by a rogue American financier, and, ultimately, validated by robust American diplomacy), now cutting sordid deals with the mandarins in China (And how long, dear reader, before the proud Slavic people get resentful of munching at scraps of sweetmeat tossed from the well-stocked tables of Beijing?), supplying military equipment to Iran (anti-aircraft missiles, but don't worry, it's not to deter an American intervention ... Its for UFO's, silly goose), generally running interference against American interests abroad in all manner of deviously creative ways.

But as the Central Asian republics -- already 3 in 18 months -- begin to slough off the malevolent influence of it's former colonial Master ... how will the Generals in Moscow react?

That, dear reader, is the $64,000 question. Thus far, Putin and the Kremlin have been tolerant about Kyrgystan, and Georgia and the Ukraine. But the unpredictable winds of change are blowing strongly in "The 'Stans," as they are called. Democracy -- or, at the very least, a disgust at autocracy -- is very much on the march. And George Soros' Open Foundation has vast reserves to spend to facilitate democratic change. Will the Kremlin refrain from military action? Is there a breaking point in all this for Moscow?

If so, at what point would Russia draw the proverbial line in the sand and fight, to preserve some semblance of an empire, not to lose what the Japanese call "face," and -- if they did take military action -- would the West have the will, or, more accurately, military (diplomatic?) capability to respond? Or have we simply called all our markers for a generation with Moscow. Heavy questions all.

Anyway, last night The Corsair came up with this theory after quite a bit of Grappa (The Corsair is doing his little grappa thing now, don't discourage). The fellows at the bar last night thought The Corsair a naught else but full of shit. Bear with me. The theory goes as follows: the intramural conflict within the Republican party between the Realists and the Neocons can be boiled down to a twilight struggle between Political Science (Hobbes, Machiavelli) and Political Philosophy (Plato, Aristotle). Just as Socrates introduced Philosophy to the world -- and, more specifically, Political Philosophy -- by the act of martyrization (Which presaged Christ's martyrization, for spiritual-political reasons), Niccolo Machiavelli put forth Political Science, with The Prince (A Realist would never die for any cause), codifying an already existing manner of the cool calculation of risks, with an emphasis on "stability," or political equilibrium.

It is interesting that "The Blink Presidency," as Joe Klein calls it, facilitated the rise of the Neocons. As incidents of Attention Deficit Disorder rise (Look at Gen Y and their ultraviolent video games and MTV attention spans) does that mean idealistic philosophy will have a renaissance? hardly. The Corsair believes the lowering attention span (The United States of Amnesia?) will harbor an Age of Boldness. Lots of wars. The end of the novel (once and for all) or any activity remotely as taxing. And, perhaps, the cutting of movie lengths from 2 hours to something more akin to one and a half.

Maybe it was too much Grappa.

A Little of the Old In and Out



In: LA Fall Fashion Week Wrap. The "folkloric" look -- Astrakhan coat with shearling, velvet, gothic black, high ruffled collars and cuffs -- was big, according to the wonderful Fashionweekdaily(blog love to the gang at Fashionweekdaily). The "vegetable colors" at Marc Jacobs' show were mentioned.

Style.com was somewhat complimentary (and somewhat citric with a dash of arch), observing: "If the fall 2005 collections were any indication, Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week at Smashbox Studios has grown up a bit, and its newfound maturity suits it rather nicely. Sure, little-known C-listers and their plastic surgeries continue to detract attention from the clothes, and the valet-parking situation at the Culver City studio is still a calamity. But the designers themselves are more experienced, and it shows."

They continue, ".. Designer Jenni Kayne is earning her stripes, not to mention attracting to her front row every season an inexplicable posse of famous people (Jake Gyllenhaal, Michael Keaton, Jason Bateman, Rachel Bilson, Alana and Kimberly Stewart, the Wagner sisters, Carolyn Murphy and Brandon Boyd, the cast of Punk'd? the list goes on). A plum fur capelet was a misstep ..." Peasant! (The Corsair sips on a soft and full Grappa)



Out: Dan Tana's. Once the Times identifies some emerging trend, that trend is already three sheets to the wind. The Old Gray Lady's Sunday Styles lauds the Los Angeles fixture, thusly, ensuring a brutal, bloody end of its hipness quotient:

"Dan Tana's is a rare place, regulars say, where generations mingle, where people go to go; not to be seen. 'It's one of my very favorite restaurants,' said Sumner M. Redstone, the chairman of Viacom and therefore (Brad Grey of Paramount Pictures) boss's boss. Mr. Redstone goes to Tana's, as some of the regulars call it, as much as three times a week when he's in Los Angeles. He was, in fact, just about to dig into some takeout the restaurant had sent over. 'I take everyone there and they all fall in love with it,' he said. 'It's the first restaurant I took my wife Paula to.'"

Which would place its beginnings as an eatery at roughly the outset of the Punic Wars.



Out: Paranoia. It appears that Kafka's crystal ball was indeed accurate. We live presently in a paranoiac age. And nothing proves this thesis more than this bizarre story by the Page Sixxies:

"DEAN Johnson the gay party promoter who sometimes performs in drag with his band, the Velvet Mafia caused a near-riot at Roseland last Saturday. Johnson and eight other men in prison guard uniforms 'all professional dominant escorts, and all as tall as me (6-foot-6)' were performing 'The Penile Colony,' an interactive theatrical production set in a Mexican jail, which Johnson described as 'Tony n' Tina's Wedding' meets 'Midnight Express.'"

"'The plan was for the crowd to be subjected to cavity searches upon admission,' Johnson told PAGE SIX.'"

Most people .... only allow only their dentists and dearly beloved spouses the permission to perform cavity searches. Admission to the "holiest-of-holies" is an understandably exclusive activity. Eight hulking dom escorts "accessing" the previously mentioned holy site is not everybody's cup of tea.

"At 1 a.m., when I led the chain gang across the dance floor and to the lobby's back theater, it caused a surge of interest and everyone was packed up against the doors waiting ... When the doors opened, we started throwing the customers up against the wall and subjecting them to searches."

A considerable pause. A monumental intake of air. The requisite hollow gasp of horror. The resumption of reading as if nothing whatsoever had occurred:

"The revelers, many of whom were already high as kites, started to panic. Many bolted, others started swallowing their stashes ... It caused such a panic that the real police were called.'

"Johnson tried to leave, but he and his crew were 'swept back inside by a tsunami of homosexuals in black leather ... it was an hour before I could find my way back to the exit.'"

And the award for the most gratuitous use of the word Tsunami goes to Dean Johnson.




(image via Sdraperi.free.fr)

In: Melanie C Bashing. You remember Mel C, don't you? Yeah, you do. Sporty Spice of the Spice Girls, homeslice. You know, the one that was all athletic and stuff. Well, Melanie C spent $1.4 million to finance this new CD that's ... going to go straight to the remainders, The Corsair is honest. So, of course she needs some "controversy," some "shock," as her last album sold roughly 1/3 as many copies as her debut, which suggests some shark jumpage. Enter, Britney Spears. According to the 3AM Girls:

"SHE'S got an awful new single to plug, so it's no surprise that Mel C is desperately trying to drum up some publicity by laying into a far more successful pop star.

"In an interview with gay mag Attitude, Mel spits: '(Britney Spears) could do with calming it down a bit.

"'It's like verging on porn. You feel embarrassed watching it with your dad.

"'Have you seen the latest video? Her shorts are so tight you can practically see her whatsit. Put it away, love.'"

Out: Mario Vasquez. Why is this man famous? What is the meaning of this thusness? Last night, "All Shook Up" had its after party,following Thursday's successful opening with Tommy Hilfinger and record mogul Clive Davis in attendance. Playbill notes of the afterparty:

"... But the center of most of the photo-flashing was that famously former 'American Idol,' Mario Vasquez. 'It's my first Broadway opening,' he gushed, 'and then I heard the party's at the Copa. Oh, my God!' Did he exit 'Idol' for Broadway? 'I'm not going to confirm anything. You have to keep your options open. As a New Yorker, you can't be stupid and be close-minded. You gotta be open to everything. Broadway is something I've thought about before. It's something I'm thinking about now, too. You never know.'"

Yes (Wan smile, a cold pagan smile at play on his lips) ... knowledge is elusive that way (The Corsair sparks up a mellow Hoyo de Monterey Excaliber). One never knows, as Mario Vasquez so ... simply put it.



Above: Win Rutherford and Oscar de la Renta prepare to make themselves a 'Leontine Price sandwich.' "I like-a de dark meat," claims Oscar, as Win looks on approvingly, all the while, slowly removing his trousers. (via NYSocialdiary)

In: Philanthropy in New York. Our favorite New York chronicler of Knickerbockers, David Patrick Columbia, is expanding:

"New York Social Diary regularly covers the kick off parties and benefit galas that showcase the seductive and glamorous aspect of philanthropic organizations in both our edit and our Party Pictures."

Glamorous and seductive, yes ... but positively ghastly *The Corsair shudders*. How about all those dozens Third World babies, converted into ... well, beverages (The Corsair has this information on good authority, we do not toss these accusations lightly), so that theTinsley Mortimer's of this world can retain their vibrant, glowing complexions. It's so unfair.

But we digress, DPC will cover this world of philanthropy:

"This is our first edition of what will be a weekly page devoted to Philanthropy in New York. An important part of New York Social Diary?s charter is to help promote the many wonderful organizations that provide a multitude of assistance, information, ideas, cultural and aesthetic contributions, and most importantly hope and inspiration to all kinds of people not only here in the city but all over the nation and the world.In terms of sheer volume and fund-raising activity, New York is the center of Philanthropy in the United States."

But we hope DPC takes a hard hitting investigative look when inner city kids go missing and Ellen Barkin's takes on an effervescent glow.

In: Andrea True. Once a porn star ... always a porn star, even, The Corsair supposes, decades afterwards. The guys at Worldofwonder.net, who made "Inside Deep Throat," write:

"I just got a call from Andrea True. She was calling from Florida where she had just seen Inside Deep Throat ... She'd been to the 5PM matinee in Ft. Lauderdale. She said the theatre was quite busy. 'It was an elderly crowd, white-headed retirees. They were older than me, most of them in their sixties.'

"I asked what she liked about the film. 'It's a real commentary on the times, the '70s. It captured something about the '70s that I think people have forgotten.

"Was there anything that surprised her about the movie? 'I was hurt by the girls at the AVN convention. It was shocking to me that they didn't know anything about the history of their craft.'

The Corsair coughs up his glass of grappa, nearly choking at the unusual use of the word: 'craft.'

"We chatted for awhile, and she reminded me that if there are any great grandmother parts [Ed. note: not great-grandmother parts] in any upcoming films we are doing that we better consider her. I assured her we would. I was about to hang up when she suggested that perhaps we should set up a website where people could access the entirety of the interviews we've conducted. 'People spend a lot of time on those computers, people wanna be entertained. Charge people, charge 'em five bucks. And advertise it on those pornsites.'"

Once a pornstar ...

Vernon Jordan: Stinking Little Fixer



The Page Sixxies present us with this chestnut on Bill Clinton's bestest friend (in those times when it is politically and financially suitable to be such, of course):

"THE other night at San Pietro on East 54th Street, a mild-mannered, bespectacled, gray-haired man haltingly approached the eatery's owner, Gerardo Bruno. 'I, uh, think I'm supposed to be here,' he said, but didn't give his name. 'Please, have a seat at the bar. I should have something in a few minutes,' Bruno replied. Vernon Jordan, the Clinton-era power broker, up from Washington for the evening, jumped up from his own table, rushed forward, and told Bruno: 'Gerardo, for God's sake, give him a damn table before he buys the place!' Warren Buffett, the second richest man in the world, was seated immediately."

When Jordan jumped, did he emit a sort of high-pitched bitch squeal suggesting an uncommon degree of arousal? Proximity to money and power does that do Old Vern.

And when he rushed forward, pitched, no doubt, by a spasmodic fit of naked ambition -- did he introduce himself as "Mr. Fix-It"? (Averted gaze) Did he offer to take care of any clean up duties? Did he spontaneously evacuate his bowels like an excited puppy at the prospect of a lucrative alliance.

That Vernon Jordan.

Kim Catrall post here. No posts today. Sorry. Big thanks to the most cool, Ben Widdicombe's Gatecrasher column in the Daily News for mentioning me yesterday. And Slate's Bidisha Banerjee for the mention today.

Junker: Those Who Can't Do Shock


Nothing suggests "absence of talent" quite like gratuitous profanity in an arena dedicated to beauty. The AP reports that the appropriately named fashion house "Junker Designs" (Averted Gaze, foillowed by an exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment) tried to get by on shock to compensate for their apparent lack of savoir faire. Fashionwire reports:



"A far cry from the clean white runways of Smashbox Studios in Culver City, Junker Designs pumped up the volume and unleashed a fashion show worthy of the phrase 'trashy lingerie' at Hollywood's Avalon on Friday night.

"Models came in all shapes and sizes, from a fiery vixen baring her gravity-defying breasts to rail thin, butt crack bearing boys in tight leather pants and hair-sprayed shags.

"Faces were squirted with what looked like black oil, and tattooed mohawked gals in pink mini-skirts and skintight white pants pranced down the club's stage and gyrated in front of members of the audience. Two female models spanked and wrestled each other, with one pulling on the other's G-string. One model in a red afro wig slurped on a lollipop the same shade. ACDC's 'Highway to Hell' blasted the room."

Would Tom Ford have needed these louche theatrics? Of course not. His work speaks for itself. Junker Designs uses the catwalk nfor distraction. Big gasface.

GottiWatch



The Gotti's are keeping busy, stretching that 15 Minutes of fame like horsehair -- no disrespect intended, Mrs. Gotti -- on a violin bow (whew!). According to Fashionweekdaily:

"All things considered, it wasn�t such a bad night for Monique Lhuillier. Sure, the weather�a sleet storm that brought slush and high winds�could�ve been more pleasant; and a bundled-up Victoria Gotti and her son, Carmine�who were waiting for their car outside the same Saks doors guests were asked to enter in�left many of the partygoers in awe ('Did you see her? That�s Victoria Gotti,' one whispered)."

And that's not all Mrs. Gotti's up to since being fired -- no disrespect intended -- from The Star, according to The Old Gray Lady:

"And (singing and dancing) was apparently enough to land Ms. Gotti a part in 'We're Still Hot' an Off Broadway musical that opened late last month at the Theater at St. Luke's on West 46th Street. Ms. Gotti - daughter of the mob boss John Gotti - asked to audition for the musical and won over producers with a tentative soprano, a lithe body and a willingness to try anything once."

Hmm. You think that's all that won the producers over? Don't you think a little anxiety over "the unions," or, better, the possibility of a little "horsehead-on-the-pillow" scenario playing itself out -- no disrespect intended -- might have tilted things in her favor a tad more than that "tentative soprano," (Averted Gaze) or allegedly lithe body. No disrespect intended by the gaze there, baby; The Corsair was just ... doing his, uh, Chinese eye excercizes. Yeah. Thats what The Corsair was doing.

Finally, according to the Post:

"In the tony Long Island town where a family fell victim to a brazen $120,000 home invasion, upper-crusters are sniffing that their exclusive enclave has been invaded by an unseemly element � fans of 'Growing Up Gotti.'"

Who are, no disrespect intended, only slightly higher on the evolutionary scale than fans of Michael Bolton, but decidedly lower on the Great Entertainment Food Chain than fans of Menudo. ("Your love hits me like a cannonball ...")

"'There's all this riff-raff coming here because of the Gotti show,' said one Old Westbury woman, referring to the the A&E Network reality drama, which is filmed at Gotti's mansion.

"'They hang out and drink and make noise and throw the bottles everywhere,' said the resident."

And something tells me we are not talking about Chateau D'yquem here.

"Others agree crowds of rowdy youths sometimes guzzle bottles of beer on their manicured lawns in hopes of catching a glimpse of the 'Gotti Hotties' � The Dapper Don daughter's three teen sons."

There's no accounting for taste. In adult beverages or in low grade pieces of ass. No disrespect intended, of course.

A Little of the Old In and Out



Above: It's Bob's world, we just live in it.

In: Bob Berney. He is the man that we are all talking about this morning. Well, him and Prince Rainier, who, sadly, is on a respirator. Indiewire writes of Bob Berney, "With industry insiders speculating about the fate of Miramax and the Weinsteins, and others spreading rumors about what might be happening at other shingle's like Warner Independent, Bob Berney has rapidly ascended to the top of a what will undoubtedly be, given the resources of all involved, a major new company for specialty and independent film." And, according to Cinematical's Karina Longworth:

"Berney has had phenomenal success (at Newmarket, and first at IFC Films) distributing difficult-to-market pictures - My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Monster, The Passion of the Christ - that no one else knew what to do with. Fine Line, meanwhile, has been making a lot of critically acclaimed films of late - The Sea Inside, Vera Drake - but these pics have struggled at the box office. One imagines that Berney's presence is, thus, the key to the sale."



Above: Nananana-nananana-heyheyhey, goodbye ..

Out: Ousted President Askar Akayev. And another Oedipus manquee bites the dust. George Bush has got to be smiling, as another punk-ass dictator is retiring to, no doubt, some out-of-the-way Belgian chateau so as to do what war criminals on the lam so often do, which is, namely, get shitfaced on bad brandies and lament their lack of power to Russian prostitutes. And the Kremlin remained neutral, besides, making the transition from tyranny as good as can be expected. Score -- Neoconservatives: 5, Realists: 0. According to the AP:

"Protesters stormed the presidential compound in Kyrgyzstan on Thursday, seizing the seat of state power after clashing with riot police during a large opposition rally. President Askar Akayev reportedly fled the country and resigned."

"... During the takeover, about 1,000 protesters cleared riot police from their positions outside a fence protecting the building, and about half entered through the front. Others smashed windows with stones, tossed papers and tore portraits of Akayev in half and stomped on them."

Intense. Say what you will about the neocons, their articulation of Book IX of Plato's Republic is astonishing. There will be no more Machiavellian coddling of dictators in the long term interests of the United States. Now, if we could only do something proactive about that tyrant swine in Zimbabwe, and those genocidal semi-savages in the Sudan.

In: Pirates. Pirates are the new black, guys. First, NYPress writes:

"Democracy proved itself alive and well at least for a few minutes on Nov. 2, when 41-year-old Virginian David Nash flopped ashore on Governors Island. Nash, who was wearing a wetsuit, raised a pirate flag and attempted to claim the misbegotten rock in the name of the Blue Tulip Party. As soldiers led Nash quietly away to Bellevue, his mother admitted to reporters that he is, yes, a little touched in the head."

Sweet. And, according to Page Six, "KORN frontman Jonathan Davis has joined the weird baby-name club. Davis and his wife, porn star Deven Davis, had a baby boy Monday and named the poor tot Pirate."

Okay, so not so much the new black as the new "teal."



link via Rivieraconcepts

Out: Guinness. According to fashionweekdaily:

"Fashionweekdaily: So Lulu, do you like beer?

"Lulu Guinness: No, I don�t! I hate beer, and I particularly hate Guinness! I drink Diet Coke instead."

Is there something we should know, dear?



In: Brittany Murphy. Sure, she has big 'ol crazy peepers, but she's also got a hip new film role, according to insomniacmania:

"Alek Keshishian is to direct the upcoming romantic comedy 'Love and Other Disasters.' Brittany Murphy is to play an assistant at U.K. Vogue, who is the catalyst for a group of young friends as they try to find love. Keshishian wrote the script and will also act as a producer."